It is not often that I get to take a long breath. A deep breath. Usually my breathing is marked by the dire straits of adrenaline in war, or by the choking pressure on my throat of pride and anger. For once, I can breathe freely, and all is well. The air in Imladris is fresh and without fear, and it is welcome in my lungs.
The path beneath my feet is worn, yet sticks and leaves crumble as I walk along it nonetheless. Birdsong is loud in the air, the arrhythmic melodies they perform becoming the pace to which I set my gait as I make my way to Elrond’s stables. I left Thalawest in Bree. He is a good horse, loyal to a fault, but his fear of the dark keeps me from bringing him on such a long journey… and, in sooth, as does the fear I have that I will not see him again for many days.
Ithilwë and I departed from Bree upon the back of his horse, Aegilir. He is a fine steed, proud and capable. I think Ithilwë did not mind me sat behind him in the least; I think he was glad to be able to keep such a close eye on me. I do not know if I will ever be able to tell him that I remember little of the trip. I slept not once. I was frightened that I would awake and find Ithilwë gone, taken from me; or that sleep would reveal to me only nightmares of the same ilk. I did not sleep. I did not rest once ere we reached Imladris, and even then I collapsed the moment I shut the door to my room.
One of the healers found me when I had stirred not once to eat, and took me to Tham Send, and she forced from me a confession of my ailments; nightmares, and being without courage, and the feeling of an ever-present shadow on my feä. She placed her hand upon my cheek, and she spoke;
“Amathlan, the shining, white shield; there is little hope I can bring to you that you cannot make for yourself. You know what it is that has marked you; the Shadow is cunning, and will play on your fears. You must not give in to them. Speak to that whom you trust, and allow them to soothe your fears. Trust that you are not without courage, or blessing.”
I am not quite sure how to do what she asked of me, but I did sleep long at her behest. Besides the fact of my collapse the night we first arrived, there are other things on my mind as well. Ithilwë and I exchanged the silver rings of betrothal by the Falls of Imladris; joy unlike that which I have ever felt before combats the fear I feel going forward with our knowledge of Angmar.
Ithilwë.
He is oft on my mind, even when he should not be. Is that what such love is? We are, in a year’s time, to bind our feä as one. I wish I had someone wiser than myself to ask this, but Cardanith has never traded such rings, and I lack the courage to ask it of Elrond.
I exhale heavily, and my eyes are drawn to the horses as I approach the stalls. I did not realize I had been walking for so long already, but I am arrived. I was told that another horse had been arranged for me whene’er Ithilwë and I chose to depart. After speaking with Cedmon a few days prior, I am to understand that within a fortnight, we travel East. I shall need that horse.
It is sunset when I return to the Last Homely House. I was introduced to the steed Tinnuroch, which was a fitting name for him, as his mottled dark and white pelt looked like twilight and stars. He seems he will make a fine companion for our journey East.
As I search for Ithilwë in the dying sunlight, I am disappointed not to find him in any of his usual haunts. Even a search of the library turned up fruitless, and so with a weary heart I return to my own room without seeing him. I can only hope he himself is resting, and not hiding out with his own books. Studying is lost on me, unlike Ithilwë. All these words of Angmar, and Numenor and its fall… I have not the mind for it. Not like Ithilwë, and Celossiel.
When my peers learned how to twist words into prose and sing songs of valor, I was learning the arts of warfare, and how to make a blade sing in my hands on the battlefield. My knowledge is instinctual and reactive… whereas spending hours poring over old books and tomes drives me to boredom (and several times to sleep against Ithilwë’s shoulder). I do not think they mind, but I cannot help but feel useless.
The air is not so fresh to me, now, as I shut the windows of my room. The only light comes from a candle on the bedside table, offering a dim flicker. The shadows flickering on the edge of my vision cause my throat to tighten and my palms to clench, and I fear again to fall asleep. I grab the candle in my hand and open the door of my room, and try to remain silent.
I wince as I step down the hall, as my boots are not silent in the least as they echo along the stone floor. My eyes study each door, trying in my exhausted memory to recall which one is that of Ithilwë’s. When I think I have located it, I knock - and then I wait. I am holding the candle close enough to my face that I can feel its heat (and I am thankful I remembered to pull my hair up so it does not catch aflame).
Just as I am sure that Ithilwë is asleep, or I have erred in which room I knocked upon, the door opens. As I am halfway turned to leave, I must look back to the doorway. He is notably sleepy, and I fear again that I have awoken him, as his brows are furrowed in confusion.
“Amathlan? Is all well?”
My words catch in my throat. I am like a child, running to my parents when I fear the shadows on my wall. Yet even in my fear I appreciate his beauty; though the braids of his hair are undone and his nose is scrunched up in a sleepy manner, my heart skips a beat. Several, actually, and I wonder if I should be concerned.
“Amathlan?” He repeats. I clear my throat, then, coming to my senses and straightening myself out.
“I… cannot sleep.”
